


October 14th

by LittleSpider



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Background Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Ficlet, Harry Hart Lives, Harry Hart grieving, M/M, One Shot, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:36:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: Every year since Harry's recruitment into Kingsman, he had requested, and when Chester King reigned, insisted on one day of the year off. No matter what.October 14th.Every year without fail, as soon as January 1st came around, Chester would await the inevitable letter on his desk, and in later years email in his inbox requesting October 14th off.--------------Written by and hosted with permission from mannersmademan.tumblr.com





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pfieffer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfieffer/gifts).



 

Every year since Harry's recruitment into Kingsman, he had requested, and when Chester King reigned, insisted on one day of the year off. No matter what.

October 14th.

Every year without fail, as soon as January 1st came around, Chester would await the inevitable letter on his desk, and in later years email in his inbox requesting October 14th off.

 

Initially, Chester had scoffed at the well-typed missive on his desk and stamped 'DECLINED' on it before returning it to Harry in his pigeon hole only to have the same letter arrive the day after.

Again, he would stamp 'DECLINED' with a terse hand written note stating that Kingsmen agents may request leave no more than 2 weeks in advance and that it may be cancelled if necessity dictates.

The next morning, the same letter was waiting with an addendum added in Hart's well penned flourish.

_'One day. October. I think you can spare me, Arthur'_

Chester was furious with the presumptuous note but couldn't help but agree that it seemed pointless to argue over a simple matter of a single day in October so instead he signed it off as 'exceptional circumstances' and added an additional note to not make a habit of it.

Except that was what it became.

Eventually, he decided to simply sign it off, and then instructed Merlin to tail him on the 14th of October 1989.

When Merlin returned, he claimed that Hart had given him the slip around Oxford and apologised.

Chester did not believe him, and instead feeling that this single day off every year posed nothing more than a threat to his own ego, let it go. It was a waste of resources to argue the toss over a single day where he had the rest of Kingsman at his disposal.

 

But he never did find out where Harry went every 14th of October, every year.

 

*

 

Harry had made arrangements with Merlin, the second most senior Kingsman now that Bors had retired to take control of the more simple day-to-day tasks that were required of Arthur. Booked his train tickets from Paddington to Oxford and had given Eggsy the day off training or active duty so that he could ensure that Daisy was taken care of for the day.

He hadn't specifically told him where he was going.

Only that it was to Oxford to deal with 'family business'.

Eggsy knew that Harry's family were originally from Oxford so he didn't question it though Harry's lack of volunteered information certainly piqued his interest.

Harry left before Eggsy woke up that morning.

He was out of the door by 6.30 and had kissed his cheek, leaving his fiancé in bed and had popped his head in on Daisy who now lived with them whilst Michelle 'cleaned up' in a clinic just outside the city.

She was fast asleep, her limbs wrapped around the oversized toy Donatello she was so very keen on.

He felt the urge to go in, sit down quietly on her bed and tuck her in a bit more as now that October was here there was a distinct Autumnal chill in the air that even permeated Harry's well insulated house.

But he didn't dare disturb her, not on a school morning and not when she looked so comfortable.

Instead he closed the door and headed out and left the two to it.

The drive to Paddington was uneventful.

Francis, his driver had ensured there was a copy of The Times waiting for him to peruse on the journey and he took it with him when he boarded his train, asking Francis to pick him up later that evening when his return train pulled in at 7 pm.

The short journey was barely enough to finish the paper.

Not that he was actually reading it.

More than anything it was cover for his thoughts.

What he had to do.

He hoped that the flower shop near the station was still open, and that they had some lovely pieces together for the Harvest season.

He would have liked something nice and warm. Orange, and seasonally festive.

She did so love Orange. It was perhaps her favourite colour and he would have indulged in traipsing around the shops to find the right shade and arrangement for her.

After all, she should have expected him to be late by now but he was certain that the news he had to give her would make up for any tardiness.

As the train pulled in at Oxford, he looked at the platform and again, with a wistfulness that was becoming almost annoyingly familiar noted the changes of the station since his youth.

He got off the train, leaving his paper behind for the next commuter to enjoy and stepped onto the station. Weaving between commuters and businessmen who were trying to get a window seat on the train for their journey before heading towards the flower shop, that if his memory served correct was a brisk 10 minute walk past Oxford University Press.

There was something comforting that the place had hardly changed in 50-odd years, though Harry imagined that it was everything to do with tourism and nothing to do with actual desire to not change, he enjoyed the familiar sites and how the sun always managed to make even the most tired stone work of the spires and towers surrounding him look as though they were magnificent.

He walked, umbrella in hand towards the florists which thankfully had a lovely Autumn theme to its window.

He walked in, a soft bell announcing his arrival.

There was an unfamiliar woman in a forest green apron behind the counter, carefully curling the bow on a beautiful bouquet of Roses and he wondered if Trudy was still here as he had been dealing with her for the last few years and she had not failed to impress.

“...Good Morning.” she began, looking up.

“Good Morning.” Harry replied. “May I ask if Tru--”

“Mr. Hart!”

Harry looked up and saw that indeed, Trudy was still here.

The woman with vibrant ginger hair and blue eyes walked out from the beaded curtain that covered the doorway into the back of the shop and walked to greet him from behind the counter.

“It's so lovely to see you!” she enthused, shaking his hand as he offered it in greeting.

“And you.” he smiled back warmly. “You're looking well.”

“It's chaos here at the moment, we're doing the harvest festival centre pieces for the church.”

“Oh.” Harry responded, his brow furrowing slightly. “I hope not too busy.”

“For you, Mr. Hart, Never.” she smiled. “What had you in mind?”

Harry walked forwards to discuss.

“Orange.” he replied simply.

“Again?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in ill-concealed surprise. “You've had orange for...well...for a while now.”

“Indeed. So why break tradition. Oranges. Different shades, coppers, browns, no gold though, please.”

Trudy nodded, taking notes.

“And flowers?”

“Carnations, Orange Lily's-” Harry listed.

“ _Hypericum_ Berries?” she suggested.

Harry leaned back musingly and looked around to see some.

Trudy obliged, pointing out some peachy coloured plump berries on stalks in a nearby vase.

“Certainly.” he nodded.

“Now, Mr. Hart. I know you like to veer away from bright colours, and I know you've shot me down in the past but how about this year we try for some yellow roses?”

Harry was about to shake his head stubbornly, but then realized that perhaps this year, yellow roses would do just fine.

“...Alright.” he nodded with a smile.

“Excellent!” she beamed at him, making a note. “Next year we can try for a nice warm pink _C_ _erise_ _ _Germi__ _ni_ _.”_

“Don't push it, Trudy.” he warned playfully.

Trudy chuckled appreciatively. “Now for some foliage? Green Bell? Hard Ruscus?”

“Certainly, I will leave that in your capable hands.”

“Alright, and do you need this shortly?”

“Please.”

“Can you give us an hour, Mr. Hart?”

“Of course. Shall I pay now?”

“No, no.” Trudy replied. “When you are happy with what you have seen.”

“Very well, see you in an hour.”

With that he left and headed straight for the cafe that was just next door.

He settled himself down with a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich that seemed to be very popular from the amount of builders sat in there all digging into huge doorstep sandwiches with lashings of brown sauce and picked up a nearby newspaper.

The Sun.

The front page featured the escape of a Gorilla from London Zoo, 'Killer clowns', and 'Marmitegate'

Harry was glad he was not completing any missions last night...

His phone buzzed briefly.

It was Eggsy.

 

'I know you ain't here and are all incommunicado but I picked some swatches. But I don't want nothing too much yeah?'

 

He smiled and put it back in his coat pocket before digging in to his sandwich.

An hour later, he had the bouquet, had paid for it, praised Trudy's efforts and had left to get in a cab to his destination.

He always felt a slight thrill of nervousness in his gut, though he had made this journey many times. At least once a year for a fair few years now.

“Visiting?” asked the driver, pulling him out of his reverie.

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if the driver really considered his question given the destination.

“Hopefully.” he replied.

That was the end of that conversation.

As the driver pulled up, Harry paid him.

“You want me to wait?” the driver asked.

“No, thank you.” Harry replied. “I may be a while.”

Harry got out, refusing his change and walked through the church gates and towards his destination.

He paused briefly, resting his umbrella against the wall so he could brush the loose pollen from his lapels, and adjusted his tie before looking up.

He could see her from here...

He walked towards her, smiling warmly and when he was finally in front of her, he knelt down a little and beamed.

“Hello Elizabeth.”

Harry gazed at the faded lettering of the headstone of his younger sister.

 

Elizabeth Jane Hart

Born 14  th  October 1963 Died September 7  th  1976

Beloved Daughter and Sister

 

He gently rested the bouquet on the ground besides the grave and smiled, gently brushing the top of the stone fondly.

“Happy birthday, Lizzie.” he said softly, emotion shaking his voice slightly.

It always did.

It had been 40 years this year.

And still he had that shake in his voice when he was knelt in front of her grave.

“...I have so much to tell you. Dear me, it's been quite a year.” Harry began in a flourish taking a deep breath.

He looked around, and sat on the ground, his coat proving some protecting from the decomposing foliage and the cold, damp ground.

“Where to begin...” he started, putting his umbrella down besides him within arms length and correcting his glasses.

“...Well...firstly...I'm engaged. Yes, I know. Me.” he gave a soft smile to the impassive stone.

“...I...I...well, you don't know him, you...wouldn't know him but...you've never heard me mention him before. He works for me. I...sort of recruited him and we became very close after what happened...in America and now we're engaged.”

He smiled brightly.

“You'd absolutely love him, Elizabeth. You'd find him endless fun. He has a younger sister, Daisy, and he's so very good with her. He plays with her, and plays make believe with her, messes up my kitchen with her, walks her to school before work, sometimes I pick her up...and...well...the yellow roses, are from him, actually. You see, yellow-is his favourite colour.”

He looked up at the clear blue sky, the clouds that were light and crisp in the air.

“...His name is Eggsy. Gary, actually. But everyone calls him Eggsy. He's a little younger than I am.”

A little...

“...alright, a lot younger. And, we're getting married in December at Fanhams Hall in Hertfordshire. Beautiful venue. We've agreed on a midnight blue and yellow theme and so far, Eggsy's picked the most garish colours I have ever laid eyes on yet I know he will do them all justice. Though, I sincerely hope he doesn't expect me to wear a yellow suit.  
I've asked Merlin...you remember my mentioning Merlin, to be my best man. He seems content with the role. And Eggsy couldn't choose between three of his best friends so he ended up choosing all of them. I do indulge that boy...”

He looked back to the grave.

“There's a dog in the house as well too. A pug, if you could believe it. Eggsy's dog. He's lovely enough but seems to consider me as an inconvenience in my own home. Had a door fitted for him to come and go as he pleases.”

“...It's gone from just me and Mr. Pickle to four of us in the place...quite different. Though my office is still, fortunately, sacrosanct.”

“...I run, the tailors where I work now. Our manager passed away a few years ago in that dreadful incident with the V-Network. Nasty business. But I was next in line so I was promoted...so to speak.”

Harry looked at the stone.

“...You should be here of course. You should be here helping me with this bloody wedding. You should be texting me with links to designs and pinboards, and all manner of design. You should be petitioning me to have your children as bridesmaids and flower girls and your sons as ushers and your husband as best man. I should be having to tell you to back off and to focus on picking a nice hat. But...you aren't, are you?”

Harry felt his eyes growing hot and his cheeks flushing in the cool October air.

“...I wish you were. I'd...I'd quite like it if you were. Perhaps you are...Perhaps you will be. Perhaps you always have been. I don't know.”

Harry sniffed hard and swallowed down emotion. It felt as hard to swallow as a stone

“...It really is a lovely day, Lizzie. You always did love the autumn.”

He looked to her stone again.

“...Do you remember, when we were children, you would wrap your scarf around my neck and beg me to take you to Narnia?”

He smiled, the un-shed tears shining painfully in his eyes.

“...I would put it on, and you would call me Mr. Tumnus? Goodness, I'm glad you can never tell Eggsy that...I'd never lose that nickname.”

He closed his eyes and finally let the two heavy, hot tears fall onto his cheeks and roll down.

“I've done so much in my life, Lizzie. So very much. Some things I am extremely proud of, some that I would rather never admit to. But I would exchange it all for the chance to be able to have just one more day with you.”

 

*

Francis picked up Harry from his 6:01 pm train from Oxford to Paddington and drove him back to his home where Eggsy promised to have dinner cooking and Daisy bathed and ready for bed.

When he put his key in the door, he was greeted with.

“Daisy! Get ya pajamas on! Ya don't want Harry to walk in on ya running around half naked do ya?”

Harry put his umbrella in its stand just as a giggling Daisy yelled:

“No!” as she ran down the stairs in just her underwear and straight into Harry who bundled her up in his arms.

“Got you!” he declared, before plastering her damp face with cold kisses.

“No! Hawwy! Get off!” Daisy laughed as Eggsy came jogging down the stairs, looking at Harry.

“...Alright, Harry?” Eggsy began, a set of miniature fleece pajamas in his hands.

Harry nodded, before looking to Daisy.

“I know somebody who won't get her souvenir if she doesn't get her pajamas on. I wonder who that somebody is, because it isn't you, is it, Daisy?”

Daisy shook her head and started looking at Harry with curiosity as he wasn't carrying any bags that could hold presents.

He gently put her down.

“Go on.”

She ran back up to Eggsy and lifted her arms ready to be dressed.

“Back down in a bit, Harry.” Eggsy began before carrying his sister back up stairs.

Harry walked through to the living room, to the glass front cabinet he kept locked in the corner of his parlour and took out a very old copy of 'The Chronicles of Narnia'

Selecting a page that was unoccupied, he checked he was not being observed by his light footed spy-fiancé, and removed a crisping, red Maple leaf from his pocket before pressing it into the book and marking in the margin with the attendant pencil '14 Oct 2016'.

He put it away hastily as he heard them return and locked the cabinet behind him.

Until next year where he would hopefully feel ready to take his husband, to meet his sister.

 

 

 


End file.
